Three
ADAK
I stop at Brandon’s office. He has Colby Minden, last week’s starting wingman, in a chair while he massages his shoulder and arm. They’re talking about a movie or something. For a minute, I lean against the doorframe and watch.
Colby is one of several players who has gotten injured this season. Every time we get our shit together, I lose a player to an injury. In Colby’s case, I’m just thankful that he didn’t break his arm. Instead, he pulled a muscle. It means far less time out than otherwise needed.
He’s the fourth injury of the year. Fourth! It feels like the universe is conspiring against us. The year I was hired to Anaheim, we finished first in the Pacific division. The following two seasons saw much the same success, making it to first in the division and then second.
But last year was shit. I lost two of my best players for top picks in the drafts and our game suffered for it. We ended in sixth for the division. Sixth!
Just thinking about it puts a pit in my stomach.
This year is shaping up to be the same based on current projections.
But this time it isn’t because we’re off our games.
It’s because of fucking injuries. We lost our starting center first. Then the center who replaced him.
Next came our powerhouse defenseman, Imonovich.
And now, we lost another starting line offensive with Colby being benched.
I swear, we’re cursed. That’s the only explanation.
It’s disheartening. My guys have their shit together, but I know they can feel the pressure as we wind up this spring.
We’re in seventh in the league. So, not last but pretty fucking close.
I’ll be psyched if we can get our shit together and pull ahead into sixth.
While I hate to jinx it one way or the other, I don’t dare to say the words out loud.
Hockey players can be very superstitious and every time we have to change dynamics on the ice to accommodate for someone being out, a ripple moves through the team. Causing unease. Irritation. Discouragement.
It’s different from the beginning of the season when we might mess around with the lineup a bit to see who looks good where. We’re nearly in April, now. This isn’t the time to keep fucking with the roster and continuing to bring in new blood from our farm leagues just so we’re at full strength.
Colby glances my way and grins. “Hey, Coach.”
I smile. “How’re you feeling, Min?”
He shrugs the shoulder Brandon isn’t working on. “Pissed off.” Contrary to his words, his voice is cheery enough. But that’s just his personality.
“I keep reminding him he could have broken his arm. The hit was really close to bending just that much more. He’s lucky,” Brandon says.
“I agree,” I say, nodding. I’ve said as much to myself over and over again. “Odds that he’ll be able to play again this season?”
Brandon wavers his head back and forth. “Mmm,” he says as he continues to massage and stretch Colby. “I’ll give you 70% odds.”
“In my favor, right?” Colby asks.
“As long as you listen to my instructions and don’t mess around, yes,” Brandon answers. “Contrary to what you athletes think, giving twice as hard when rehabbing doesn’t actually mean you heal twice as fast. More times than not, you do more damage, which only keeps you out longer.”
“For the record, I’ve never done that,” Colby says.
Brandon gives him a demure look, and Colby flashes him a beaming smile. He’s a good kid. A happy man. We’re going to miss his upbeat demeanor on the ice.
“Keep it up,” I say and back away from the door.
“Will do, Coach,” Colby promises.
After dropping my bag in my office, I head for the ice. Practice isn’t for an hour but several of my boys have always come early to the ice for free skating and just to mess around. I love watching them enjoy themselves.
Axtell likes to speed around the perimeter as fast as he can. The rest of the team tries to stay out of his way, but he usually welcomes the obstacles. He’s an older player and I think he uses this time to keep his speed competitive.
Hollinger Kearney is our captain. He’s currently working with the three newest players that we pulled from the farm team and working on their bladework and hand-eye coordination.
Then there’s Lamar Gibbon, our goalie. There’s never any telling what he’ll be doing when I find them.
Currently, he’s on all fours and stacking pucks like you might find a toddler stacking blocks.
He’s being precise, very carefully adding one on top of the tower.
He shifts once it’s set and examines the tower, adjusting it so it’s not leaning so much.
Sitting back, he admires his work before using his stick to gather more loose pucks toward him so he has more building material.
Goalies really are a different breed entirely.
Just wait until he heads off the ice… usually he’s dancing in some way, even if it’s just practice or if we lose a game. The man is still dancing.
I use this time when my boys do their own thing to watch them.
Study them. Especially when we have new talent on the team.
They’re decent, but I think we’re going to need a lot of help to make a comeback this season.
I’d like to say we have the talent, but my boys have been stuck in their own heads since Imonovich got injured. Colby was just another hard blow.
I’m leaning over the boards, watching the team when my assistant coach joins me. Traer Williams played for the AHL for eight years. Just as he was called to the NHL, he chose to retire. Strange, in my opinion, but it is what it is. He had his reasons, whatever they were.
Since then, he spent a couple years doing hockey commentary for Sports Spot and other large networks before signing on as my assistant coach since I accepted the position.
“Thoughts?” Traer asks as he stops next to me. During practices, we’re in skates to make moving around the ice easier.
“I don’t know,” I say. “We either move up the current lines or take our chances on the new guy.”
Together we stand quietly and watch Hollinger work with the three new Bobcats. “Winger might be promising,” Traer says after several minutes.
“I thought that too. I’d really like one of the centers to work out.” We’ve already moved our third line center into first and… I’m not feeling confident about that move. But I didn’t have any other options.
“Hear me out,” Traer says. “What if we put Holly in center? He’s got the skill.”
Hollinger, or Holly as the team affectionately calls him, certainly has the skill. The problem is, we’ve tried to move him before and while he tries to adjust his game, he’s very much a creature of habit and forgets that he’s not playing his usual winger position.
“Work with him. We have two days before we play Calgary. Have a backup plan.”
Traer nods and steps backwards from where we were leaning on the board. He has a clipboard in hand and begins making notes as he takes a seat on the bench.
Maybe that’s what we need. To shake things up. Try something new.
With that in mind, I borrow some paper from Traer and start tearing it into strips. After writing the positions on each strip, I grab an extra helmet and shake them up.
“I’m going to try something first,” I tell Traer. “Before you start with Holly. For the challenge, for fun, and as an experiment. Will you grab a couple spare sets of goalie pads and regular pads?”
He nods. Once he returns, I turn to the ice to get this practice underway. At my whistle, the team skates to me.
“How we feeling?” I ask when they close around where I’m standing inside the player’s bench.
I hear a bunch of discouraged and annoyed sounds.
Nodding because I definitely feel their frustration, I say, “We’re going to start today with a game. In this helmet, I have strips of paper with positions on it. You’re going to draw a piece and we’re going to scrimmage with you in those new positions.”
“Why?” Axtell asks, his face scrunched.
“We’re not having the best season,” I say.
“And while a lot of that has to do with the injuries we’ve suffered and the constant rearranging of our team, I think we’re too in our heads.
There isn’t enough time in the season to make it to playoffs, so we’re going to experiment a little and see what we can manage in the short term. ”
Axtell, still frowning, nods.
“Want to pick first, Ax?”
He shrugs and reaches into the helmet. The entire team watches as he unfolds the paper. His gaze meets mine and I can see that he’s completely unimpressed.
“What’d you get?” Hollinger asks.
“Goalie,” Axtell says.
Lamar cackles. “Want to borrow my pads?”
“No,” Axtell deadpans.
“No need,” Traer says. “We have an extra set for you.”
“Wonderful,” Axtell says as he begins stripping right there on the ice.
We go through the helmet and. for the most part, the team is receptive to the idea. There’s laughter and teasing as the guys get their new positions. After Axtell is in goalie gear and Lamar is in regular pads, the team splits in two. Traer takes the left team and I take the right.
It’s not so bad. They’re entertaining to watch, but I’m happy that they’re all putting their full effort into their new positions.
Including Axtell, as I knew he would. Honestly, he isn’t half bad as a goalie.
His reflexes are pretty damn good and the speed he works so hard to maintain works in his favor.
Lamar is quite an amusing defenseman. He’s more likely to drop his weight onto the ice to stop the puck than he is to use his stick. He keeps dropping like a lead balloon, but he does keep the puck from the goal.
“That’s not how you defend!” Hollinger says, laughing as he helps Lamar to his feet for the third time.
“It’s how I defend,” Lamar says, shrugging. “I’ve been in goal since I was six.”
“We’re not considering moving Lamar out of goal, are we?” Traer asks.
I laugh, shaking my head. “Nah. But I think maybe we’ll talk about Holly as center.” Conveniently, he drew that position and he’s been pretty consistent. “Let’s see how the rest of the scrimmage goes.”
Practice went well. I’m not sure we made any permanent changes, but they did great during the scrimmage, including Hollinger in center. That is, until Traer explained our suggestion to him.
I learned a very important thing about Hollinger. If it’s all fun and games, he’s not concentrating so hard and can remain in the position he’s assigned. When it’s serious, when we’re talking about playing for real, it’s nearly impossible for him to maintain that headspace.
That means we’re moving one of the new drafts from our farm team into starting center. I’m not confident about our third lineman enough, which screams that I’m not sure he should be on the Bobcats.
Honestly, we just need to get through this season, preferably without any new injuries, and start fresh next year. Fingers, eyes, toes, and legs crossed that our men are all back up to full health and maybe we gain a fantastic new player from the drafts.
I call my sister on the way home. Her voice fills my car and I smile. Growing up, we were thick as thieves. So naturally, as we got older, we remained close. College coaching allowed me more time at home with her and her family. There were more breaks and holidays.
We may see each other less now, but we talk just as often.
“How’s the team?” she asks first.
She knows we’ve been struggling this season.
“Min’s out,” I say. “For at least a few more games. I…” my voice trails off.
Because I know this is my sister and there’s no one else around, I tell her the truth.
“I’m fucking frustrated, Laska. This is ridiculous.
I have four injured players. Three of which will be out for the rest of the season.
Granted, I know my team should be just as good without them, but the constant injuries are taking a mental toll more than anything. ”
Laska tsks. “Discouraging,” she agrees.
“Yeah. I’m ready for summer.”
She laughs, which brings a smile to my face. “Have you heard from my son?”
I smirk, but only because she can’t see it. “Which?”
“Rakesh.”
Jiya lives close to her and I know that he and his wife are over often. The only answer could be Rakesh.
“You could call him, you know.”
She huffs. “I do. I just talked to him two days ago.”
“Then why do you ask as if he’s fallen off the face of the earth?”
“He sounds… sad,” she says.
“I had dinner with him and Egon last weekend. I promise, they’re perfectly fine. You know Rake.” I leave it at that. Rake is a very reserved person and doesn’t care for his business being shared. I’d never break that trust.
Laska sighs. “Fine. Good. When will you be home again?”
I shake my head, though she can’t see it. “Not till the end of the season, win or lose. But you’re welcome to come out here. I have plenty of space.”
She hums. “I’ll talk to Prayan.”
I nod as I turn down my street. I’m not far outside the bustling city and close to the arena, but once I turn off the highway, it’s like driving into an entirely new world. One where there’s less traffic and noise. It’s almost peaceful.
“Do you have plans tonight?”
Shaking my head, I say, “No. Just relaxing. Think about ways to fix this season. I’d really like us to gain one place in the standings, but I’m not confident that’ll happen.”
We talk until I pull into my driveway. I live at the back of the suburban neighborhood, as far from the busy streets as I could get and remain in Anaheim. It would be very quiet if it weren’t for the fact that we’re right under the flight path for air traffic.
It knocked down the price quite a bit, at least.
When I step inside, the silence surrounds me. For a minute, I close my eyes and breathe easily. Shutting out the outside noise is one of my favorite parts of the day.
But when I open my eyes, the silence feels different. It’s lonely. Empty.
Sighing, I move into the house to go through my nightly routine.